


Cat Got Your Tongue?

by baloobird, Buckets_Of_Stars



Series: This World Is A Jungle [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animals, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal AU, Animal Instincts, Animal Traits, Anthropomorphic, Anti-Starker, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Awesome Michelle Jones, Co-Written, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Inspired by Zootopia (2016), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Minor Injuries, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, One Shot, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Ned Leeds, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Character, Sick Peter Parker, Talking Animals, The flu, Tiger Peter Parker, Tiger Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is a Good Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baloobird/pseuds/baloobird, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: Peter’s totally not sick.Sure, he feels like complete shit. His head’s pounding, his stomach’s churning, his whole entire body is just completely, 100% aching and his throat’s sore. . .But he’s not really sick. He’s not.Tony and May, on the other paw, completely, 100% disagree.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: This World Is A Jungle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654177
Comments: 51
Kudos: 170





	Cat Got Your Tongue?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, coming back at cha with another Zootopia au!!! We hope you enjoy the fluff and thank you so much for all of the love and support for our last collaboration, we hope that you enjoy this one just as much!!! 💖
> 
> **Trigger warning for vomiting (not graphic)**
> 
> Disclaimer: We do not own Spider-Man, any related materials, or Disney's Zootopia.
> 
> The list of characters with their animal counterparts can be found in our end notes. :)

* * *

As soon as Peter blinks his eyes open, he knows something is wrong. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, blocking them from the rising sun’s golden rays, wincing as his head gives a sudden, jumping throb. 

He totally didn’t remember to close his blinds last night.

The boy groans, rolling over and smushing his face further into his pillow, trying in vain to find at least one cooler spot. The fur along his forehead gets pushed in the opposite direction and the young tiger’s brows furrow in annoyance at the uncomfortable feeling. His own scent is stale, bitter and sharp in sickness and the young tiger grimaces at the tang.

He really should have showered when he got home.

“Hey, baby.” May’s voice causes Peter’s ears to twitch and he rolls over just enough to squint, watching as his aunt crosses her arms over her pink nurse scrubs. “You have to get up for school. It’s nearly 7:15, you don’t want to be late, do you?”

Her nephew groans once more, sinking his face further into the fabric. Peter hears May step closer, speaking in a singsong voice, her hand cool against his forehead. 

“The sooner you get up, the sooner you’ll get to hang out with Tony.”

Peter’s ears perk up instantly, which does nothing to help his headache but it definitely lifts his mood, albeit slightly. He sniffs, heaving a sigh and saying a defeated, _“Fine.”_

With a small growl, the cub is sitting up once more, his comforter pooling around him. May chuckles at his glare, reaching out to gently ruffle the fur along his head, before turning around and starting back toward the kitchen.

“Hope you’re hungry, Pete. I made your favorite!”

Peter rolls his eyes, quickly grabbing a pair of faded jeans and a relatively clean shirt, pulling it over his head. He tries to ignore how his muscles ache. “Heating up pop-tarts in the toaster doesn’t exactly count as ‘making’ something, Aunt May.”

Peter grins as he imagines the way his aunt has paused, the otter shaking her head. “Yeah, well, it’s still your favorite. Don’t brownie points count for anything?”

“Whatever you say.” 

Tugging his shoes on, Peter finally makes his way to the kitchen, going straight for the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk. The coolness soothes his aching throat and the cub swallows, hoping that May didn’t notice the way he winces.

“Excited for tonight, buddy?” May asks when Peter turns back around, handing him a strawberry pop-tart wrapped in a napkin. “I know you and Tony must have some exciting things planned.”

Peter shrugs, taking a small bite of his pastry. “Same old, same old, to be honest. Work in the lab and watch movies, order some pizza and eat a ton of ice cream.” 

“Sounds great, honey.” Suddenly May leans forward, pushing her glasses further up her snout, her hazel eyes narrowing. “Are you feeling okay, Peter? You look a little pale--”

“I’m fine!” Peter says, pulling back away from her hand, tail snapping against his leg. “Just-Just tired, too much studying, I guess.”

“Oh really?” May raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms and leaning one hip against the counter, her own tail coming up to lay against her thigh. “Is that what we call patrolling now?” 

Peter blanches but manages to cover himself just in time, letting out a small cough. “Uh, I-I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

May gives him the _look_ and the young tiger’s gaze darts to the floor, his stomach churning in guilt and a low, simmering nausea. He tries to push it aside, instead focusing on getting his fur to lie flat once more. 

“You know me and Tony have a group chat, sweetheart.” The otter says and Peter’s heart sinks because _yes, yes he did know._ “And you also know that we can both see how long you’ve used the Spider-Tiger suit and damn it Peter, you know that you’re not supposed to be out past eleven on school nights.” 

Peter’s ears fall back, resting against his head and he swallows, feeling the pounding behind his eyes grow with each beat of guilt. 

“I know.” He whispers. “I’m sorry. It’s just, there was-was this old woman and she needed help and I couldn’t just leave her to get hurt because I have an algebra test tomorrow.”

“I understand that, baby, but you also need to sleep. And eat something more than pop-tarts and a glass of milk for breakfast. You can’t help others if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

Peter just nods. 

May sighs, one of her smaller paws coming up to gently trace along Peter’s cheek and the teenager leans into the touch with a tiny purr. He knows his aunt can tell something’s wrong but he also knows she trusts him enough not to push it.

His guilt increases and his head drums in time with his heart, rapid and pounding against his ribcage. He blinks back sudden tears, stepping away and grabbing his tail-tip, smoothing down the white fur with a finger.

“I’m not going to lecture you anymore right now, honey.” May suddenly smirks, her eyes sparkling in a bit of mirth behind her circular frames. “I’m positive Tony has quite the speech planned for you himself, he was practicing it with me in the chat last night.”

Peter half-heartedly groans, walking over to the trashcan to throw his now empty napkin away. “Can’t wait.”

“Hmm.” May leans over once he grabs his bookbag, pressing a small kiss against his forehead that has Peter purring for the 2nd time that morning. “I have a double shift at the hospital today so if you need anything, text your dad. I’m sure he’d be happy to help. I love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too.”

Peter manages to make it out the door and down the stairs before he has to lean against the side of his building, his whole body throbbing in aches and pains. The early morning sun is bright, a fizz of golden yellow that reflects off the nearby highrise buildings. The sky is a deep baby blue, the breeze warm.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, most likely a text from Ned about their upcoming Chemistry lab, but the young tiger ignores it. 

He contemplates texting Tony for a split-second but dismisses the thought with a harsh sigh.

 _He’s okay._ Peter thinks, taking a deep, wheezing breath before painfully straightening back up and starting down the sidewalk, his bookbag slapping against his back. _He’s good._

_Everything’s going to be fine._

* * *

By the time Peter plops down next to MJ at lunch, his entire head feels like it’s going to explode.

His stomach aches, and he pushes aside his salmon with a grimace, taking a small sip of his water. The cool liquid helps to settle his nausea at least a little, and the tiger cub turns toward Ned just as his best friend sits down.

“Woah dude, you look like shit,” Ned says and Peter rolls his eyes. “Did something happen, you know, _last night?”_

Peter quickly shushes the bear cub, his ears pulling back. He glances around before leaning in closer, his twitching whiskers nearly poking Ned in the eye. The bear cub grimaces.

“No!” Peter whispers, his stomach churning. Reaching over, he pushes his fish even further across the table, ignoring Ned’s concerned frown. “No, nothing happened last night. Just. . .didn’t sleep that great, is all.”

Ned’s brows furrow. “Well, you know you can tell me if it is, uh, _something._ You know, important and all that, yeah.”

Peter flashes his friend a small, grateful smile. “Of course.”

MJ suddenly looks up from her book, her eyes narrowed and ears perked in their direction. “Do I even want to know?” She pauses, however, gaze searching Peter’s face. “Damn, Parker, you really do look horrible.”

Peter groans, leaning his head against the lunch table, the white vinyl cool against his forehead. “Can we all just stop talking? Please?”

Both Ned and MJ seem to nod but Peter’s face is still obscured by his arms and he swallows down sudden bile, the acid burning the back of his throat. The young tiger feels Ned’s paw brush his shoulder in silent support and Peter leans his head up just enough to glance thankfully at his friend. 

It’s silent for a few, blissful seconds before Ned speaks, his voice a rough, half-whisper that causes Peter’s ears to twitch.

“Can I have your pudding cup?” 

Deciding that enough is enough, Peter straightens back up with a harsh sigh, handing over the cup and reluctantly taking a few bites of his salmon. He feels his stomach gurgle as he feels the fish slide down his throat but he forces himself to keep eating. 

Eating is good, eating gives energy, and energy makes Peter feel better.

Hopefully. 

MJ, finally putting down her book, turns toward Ned, nodding at the bear cub’s English book half-sticking out of his backpack. “Have you gotten to the good part in _Lord of The Flies_ yet?”

Ned laughs, grabbing the book and handing it to the zebra calf. “We only have around two more chapters left and if there’s a ‘good part’, it better come quickly.”

MJ snorts, paging through the novel. “Spoken like a true Nedward.”

“What the hell does that even _mean?”_

Peter soon finishes his lunch and tunes back into the conversation, not having the strength to actually chime in, but hearing his friends’ banter makes him forget about his aches for a little while.

Until he feels his stomach start to wretch a few minutes later, making about the loudest noise he’s ever heard. Peter wraps his arms around his torso, feeling his cheeks heat up in humiliation. His stomach rumbles again and he squeezes himself tighter, ignoring the exacerbating pain.

Ned, turning away from a still ranting MJ, leans over the table slightly to get a good look at his friend, face etched in concern, “Peter, you okay, dude?”

The young hero grips tightly onto his shirt, acting as both a form of comfort and to suppress the gurgling. He shakes his head, staring down at his shoes, tail twitching against his leg, “I don’t know, I-I don’t know -”

Peter is cut off as his stomach protests once more, but this time he feels the bile crawl up his throat. He is out of his seat and in the boys’ bathroom in seconds, barely making it to the first stall before his body expels its contents.

The cub leans completely over the toilet, legs giving out and forcing him to his knees. The hard tile bangs against his legs and Peter lets out a small whine of pain around his dry-heaving.

He takes a few deep breaths once he’s done, trying to get his body to calm down, and slumps completely against the toilet, not caring that he’s sitting on the disgusting, grimy floor.

He hears the bathroom door swing open and footsteps that grow louder as the animal gets closer. The boy then hears the voice from a bear cub that he knows all too well. “Peter?”

The tiger in question grunts, letting his friend know where he is. Seconds later, Ned walks into the stall - Peter didn’t even think to lock the door - and gets on his knees in front of his friend, flushing the toilet to get the stench out of the air. 

He gently reaches out, squeezing Peter’s shoulder in comfort when all the other cub does is blink up at him. Ned then speaks in a whisper, “Peter, you need to go to the nurse’s office.”

The other teen shakes his head, only stopping because the act is making him dizzy, his stomach jumping. “I’ll be okay, just give me a sec.”

“You don’t _have_ a sec, dude. You really don’t look so good, you can barely stand up.”

With a huff, Peter stubbornly rises, keeping hold of the toilet for support. He grimaces, however, both at the feeling of the clearly disgusting metal under his pads and from the way his entire body aches. 

“No, no.” He says, swallowing. The taste of the throw-up is still fresh on his tongue and he carefully makes his way over to the sink, feeling Ned following right behind. “I-I’m fine. Just ate something bad, I g-guess. Must have been that 7-11 sushi I picked up last night on patrol.” 

Ned clearly doesn’t look convinced and Peter internally cringes. 

His friend opens his mouth, most likely to call Peter out on the blatant bullshit the tiger cub just sputtered, but he’s cut off by the sound of the bell. Lunch has effectively ended and both teenagers quickly shuffle out of the restroom, melting into the sea of students packing up and throwing away their trash.

They meet MJ at the corner near the main office, and Peter winces as the afternoon sun filters through the high windows above. His head continues to throb, a dull, pounding ache that travels down his neck and into the soles of his feet.

 _Just something I ate._ He thinks, feeling Ned’s hand brush against his shoulder in support. 

They walk past the nurse’s office, and Peter feels both Ned and MJ stare at the door and then back at him, but the tiger ignores them. They don’t say anything, however, and Peter can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse, but dismisses the thought when his stomach rolls once more.

He’s fine. He feels like _complete shit,_ but he’s fine. 

He just has to make it through the last half of the day, that’s all.

_Just a few more hours._

* * *

Somehow, Peter makes it to P.E. class. 

But he _really_ wishes he didn’t.

His stomach feels even worse than before, the nausea now escalating to continuous aches and worrisome noises. His head might actually blow off his body like a Michael Bay movie and he doesn’t even want to think about how scratchy his throat has become.

Can he just sit on these bleachers forever? His butt will be sore but at least he won’t be moving.

Ned looks at him in concern, putting a paw on his friend’s shoulder, and whispers, “You sure you don’t wanna go to the nurse’s office? You really don’t look good, man.”

The young tiger leans into the comfort, wrapping his arms around his stomach once again in an effort to suppress the gurgling. He winces as his head throbs right above his eyes, trying to focus on whatever the fuck his polar bear of a P.E. teacher is saying.

But holy shit, he wants to go home...he wants nothing more than to go home, slip into his guardians’ arms, and escape reality for a few days.

Or a few weeks.

_Oh my God. Sleeping for a few weeks sounds amazing._

But the school day is literally almost over. After P.E. he has just one more class, he can make it a couple more hours.

Only a couple more hours until he sees Tony.

_I can do this._

Peter ultimately shakes his head at the bear cub’s question, squeezing his eyes shut against the dizziness that threatens to take hold. “The day’s almost over, I’ll be fine.”

Ned tightens his grip, looking at him in disbelief, “Are you sure? Look, I can go with you -”

“No, no it’s fine,” the teen shrugs his best friend’s paw off his shoulders, “I’ll be fine.”

Before the other boy can counter, Coach Wilson announces that it’s time for dodgeball.

Peter sighs in utmost relief. Normally, he hates the sport but today, it couldn’t have worked out any better. All he has to do is get hit with a dodgeball and he can sit out the rest of class, still suffering but it won’t be torturous.

The students are split into two teams and they walk onto their respective sides of the gym while the teacher sets the foam balls of evil in the center.

_Okay, stand still as a statue, get hit, then go sit down...easy as that._

Peter continues massaging his stomach as he gets into position, ignoring the worrying look his friend keeps giving him. Shifting on his feet, the young tiger takes a second to press a hand against his temple, trying in vain to almost push his growing headache away.

He then hears the smug voice of a ferret he knows too damn well. “Really? I’m on the same team as ‘Penis Parker’? Now P.E.’s not gonna be any fun.”

_Thank fuck._

The spiderling squints his eyes at Flash, not having the energy for a sassy comeback. 

He hears Ned shout from his other side, “Shut up, Flash, maybe you’ll actually play this time” and Peter wishes he could give his best friend a fist-bump in gratitude.

Coach Wilson blows the whistle before the bully can say anything more and thirty-two students all rush for those dodgeballs as if it’s their life force.

Peter, however, stands back and watches the chaos unleash.

_Just one dodgeball, that’s all it takes._

As the game continues, the tiger cub just stands there, trying not to grip his stomach to give off like there’s something wrong. Except for an occasional push or shove - mostly from Flash - Peter doesn’t leave his general area.

Which is actually really fucking annoying.

He is literally acting as a “sitting duck” and not one ball has come in his direction.

Just his “Parker Luck”, the one time he’s not dodging is the one time no one targets him.

 _Maybe Flash_ should’ve _been on the opposite team._

A couple more minutes go by and about half of both teams are now out. It’s then that someone takes notice of the sickly tiger and throws a dodgeball at him.

And hits him right in the stomach.

Right away, Peter feels the organ gurgle in protest and he wraps his arms around it to stifle the sound and pain but it doesn’t do a lick of good.

He hears yelling from the other kids, probably telling him he’s out, but the young hero finds he can’t move. He can barely even see straight, let alone walk to the bleachers. His whole world tilts, the startled and worried faces of his classmates blurring in and out of focus.

The cub then feels that build-up in his stomach as it starts to heave and he panics. 

No...he’s not about to puke. Not here.

He’s not, there’s no way.

But then he starts to gag as he feels it slide up his throat, taking deep breaths and constantly swallowing to keep everything down.

He turns and starts to walk in the direction of the bathroom but his legs have gone weak, he can’t move except if it’s literally one step at a time.

He’s not going to make it.

More panic filters through him as his heart starts to race with anxiety. Peter doesn’t know what to do, where to go, how to get there, and where the _fuck_ is Coach Wilson?

To make things _so_ much better, he then hears that damn ferret snickering right in front of him. Flash speaks in between bouts of sniveling laughter, “Penis is about to puke his guts out on stage! Please tell me someone’s filming this.”

Peter hiccups as he gags once again, and unfortunately, this time he can’t swallow.

Everything the boy had for lunch topples out and onto the floor, making disgusting splashing sounds that makes him wish he was getting into a nice, clean pool instead of...creating a disgusting, sick filled one. 

And poor little Flash is too dumb and arrogant to avoid the splash zone.

Vomit covers the bully’s sneakers, legs, and even the bottom of his gym shorts, making the prick squeal in terror, his ears drawing back as his dark eyes widen in disgust and disbelief. “Oh my God...oh my God, get this shit off me! Get it off, get it off, _get it off.”_

Once it’s all out of his system, Peter stands up straight and wipes his mouth with his paw, taking in the horror he just made. 

But at least his stomach feels slightly better...it’s just the rest of him that needs some work.

The teen looks up and sees Flash rushing to the bathroom to wash off everything, flailing while doing so. 

Peter allows a slight smirk to escape him, trying to find a thread of remorse but coming up empty. 

Sort of like his stomach. 

Ned rushes over to his friend through the crowd of students now gathering and pulls Peter away from the puddle with a gentle tug. “Okay, I know you’re sick and all but that was probably the best thing that’s happened all freaking year, dude.”

The young tiger’s smirk grows into a tired grin, almost swaying where he stands. He tries to speak, his voice raspy and slightly gurgled. “Glad I could be of service.”

They both then hear a deep grunt and turn to see their teacher finally walking in. Coach Wilson’s eyes widen at the gross sight before him and he turns to the pair still on the gym floor, “What happened here?”

Ned talks for his friend, Peter’s eyes closing as he finally allows himself to admit that, yes, he might be _a little bit_ sick, “Peter threw up, I think he’s sick.”

“Yeah,” The teacher glances down at the mess before looking back up with an unamused expression, the white fur around his face tinged slightly green. “I can see that.” He then sighs, nose wriggling in hopelessness. “Alright, take him to the nurse’s office.”

_Don’t gotta tell me twice._

* * *

According to the nurse, Mrs. Sheer, Peter has the stomach flu.

The cub groans at the diagnosis, rubbing his tongue over the thermometer that’s in his mouth. Mrs. Sheer is beside him, her beady blue eyes studying his every move as he shifts against the plastic sheet covering the cot.

_Fucking fantastic, truly._

The sheep pulls out the instrument and squints her eyes to look at the grade. She finally speaks, right before Peter thinks he’s about to explode from the tension, both behind his eyes and in the room.

“100.2, not too bad, still need to rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

Peter nods his head from the cot, too out of it say anything. He then lays down on the most uncomfortable bed he’s ever felt, the only thought on his mind is to sleep, sleep for...well, forever.

The nurse then dampens a cloth at the sink and brings it to her patient. With the cloth in her hoof, she lightly presses it against the cub’s forehead, Peter having to bite his tongue to keep his pleased purr from escaping. The water is so cool and refreshing.

“Maybe this’ll bring the temperature down a little bit, hon. Keep it there while I call your guardians, mkay? Do you want me to call your Aunt or your Dad?”

“Neither.”

Mrs. Sheer gives him a look. “I have to call one of them, Mr. Parker, school policy.”

Peter tenses at that. He completely forgot about actually _leaving_ the school and going home...so who does he call?

He doesn’t want either parent to know, in all honesty. He’d feel too guilty for interrupting their day with something so trivial like the basic stomach flu. They’d seen him shot and bleeding before for God’s sake!

_What if they laugh at me?_

Peter shakes his head, cursing internally when the motion causes a sharp pain to flare behind his eyes. He knows the fever is causing his thought to sink into dangerous, self-deprecating territory and he can’t allow his brain to fry his spirits as well as his skull.

But then he feels his skin and bones really dig into this table that the school calls a cot and makes a decision, “My Dad...please?”

“Sure thing, sweetie.” The nurse then leaves, Peter mindlessly looking on as her wool whooshes slightly from side to side. She walks a few feet to stand at her desk, glancing over at him once again through the doorway before pulling out a big book and flipping through the laminated pages.

 _It’s the most logical decision, really._ Peter thinks, trying in vain to block out the annoying crinkling sounds his every movement causes. _May’s a nurse too, she can’t just drop everything and pick me up from school_.

At least there’s a small chance his dad isn’t currently doing anything really important.

_Unless he’s in a meeting with the President, or flying the IronTiger suit toward a battle scene, or in the middle of a date with Pepper or responding to emails or--_

Peter shakes his head again, forcing his fur to lie flat. He’s going crazy, he just knows it. Reaching up, the young tiger wipes away the sweat that’s beading across his forehead, his whole frame shivering.

God, he really, really feels awful. 

And he really, _really_ just wants his Dad.

He hears Mrs. Sheer talking on the phone in the next room. The nurse seems to be responding to questions-- or interrogations, if Peter knows Tony--but he can’t make out what she’s saying, or guess at what his father is responding back.

The cub just sighs in defeat as he presses the cloth more into his skull, the fur around it becoming damp with both water and sweat. Peter sighs in relief at the coolness, shifting on the make-shift bed. God, why didn’t he think of this five hours ago?

He hears the nurse hang up and she stands, coming the last few feet to stop in the doorway, her voice muffed. “Your dad will be here soon, hon.”

Peter hums an affirmative, letting his eyes close completely and try to relax. Soon, he’s going to sleep in his own bed and in comfortable clothes. The anticipation is so high that he starts purring, already imagining the way being off of this shitty cot and cuddled close to his father will feel.

Tony arrives about ten years later in sick-Peter time, but in reality it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes. Mrs. Sheer leads the older tiger in and the boy immediately relaxes in his presence.

His dad is finally here.

The billionaire softens as he takes in the view of his cub, leaning in close and stroking Peter’s fur behind his ears, his paws gentle. Tony’s eyes, when Peter finally manages to glance up, are warm, gooey and soft like melted chocolate and the teenager nuzzles upwards, his throat choking on a purr. 

For the first time today, that damn migraine starts to alleviate, not enough to where it’s healed, by any means, but little progress is better than none.

Peter leans even further into the comfort, never wanting this to go away. His father somehow seems to sense this and bends at the waist to make direct eye contact with his son, a kind and slightly worried smile evident on his muzzle. 

“How’re you doing there, buddy?” The mechanic’s tone is almost at a whisper, most likely to keep from aggravating Peter’s already throbbing head.

“Spectacular, can’t you tell?” Peter grunts at his own sass and looks at his guardian with pleading eyes. Tony’s tail reaches up, gently caressing Peter’s cheek and down his jaw and the cub chirps. “Can we go home now? Please?”

Tony nods.“Yeah, just a minute and we’ll be oughta here, I just got to sign you out and get your stuff.” 

Peter whines, reaching out with trembling paws to gently latch onto his father’s dress shirt. “Nothing’s alive in my locker, it can just sit there...even if something _was_ alive, it can die for all I care.”

Tony lightly chuckles at the dramatics, “I’m sure you’d love that come Monday.” He gives his son another soft ruffling before letting go, chest rumbling in a quiet purr of his own, “Just give me a minute, bubba, and I’ll be right back.”

The cub holds back another whine as that feeling of comfort escapes him, finding himself craving it more than he did before Tony even arrived. 

His dad soon returns with Peter’s book bag slung across his shoulder, wrinkling the fabric of his expensive, navy blue suit. After carefully helping Peter up and signing him out, Tony walks his son out of the school and into his car, giving him his sunglasses to keep the glare from worsening his migraine.

Peter’s in the car for all of five seconds before, after getting buckled in by a fussing Tony, he lays his head against the window and passes out completely from exhaustion.

* * *

The teenager wakes up to find himself in his dad’s arms, slowly being carried up the last few steps before they’re inside the penthouse of Stark Tower.

Peter snuggles into the comfort of Tony’s warmth, getting especially close to the older tiger’s neck, thus making the hero’s ears perk up. 

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead.” The billionaire smiles caringly at his son, tightening his grip on the tyke and adjusting to make sure he won’t fall. Peter snuggles closer as they finally make it out of the elevator and into the living room. “You wanna go to bed or hang out here on the couch?”

His cub takes a second to think about that, blinking in the harsh light of the settling sun. The blinds normally covering the high windows on the other side of the room are open, the sky beyond becoming a hazy, orange-pink. Tony only has to glance pointly upwards before Jarvis snaps the blinds close.

“Thanks, Jar.” Tony says and Peter echos the statement, still lost in thought

He’s literally been dreaming of his bed all day, but if he goes to bed now, Tony won’t be with him.

And only an idiot would ever want to get out of his dad’s arms.

Peter makes his decision, voice raspy due to the lack of speech and scratchy throat, “Couch...I wanna sleep on the couch.”

“Good choice.” Tony makes his way to the glorious sofa and carefully, oh so carefully, he lays his kid down on the cushions, said kid immediately adjusting to the wonderful fabric that the school’s cot pales in comparison. “Just gotta get my cub all comfy, hmm?”

The older genius carefully lifts the teen’s head and places a pillow underneath, setting it back down and making sure his fur is laying all in the same direction. He then grabs a blanket and drapes it over his cub, tucking him in and rubbing his arms for a few seconds in an effort to keep him warm. 

Peter moans in content, curling into a ball letting the warmth consume him. He kicks off his shoes and knocks them off the couch, rubbing his paws together as a way to air them out.

Tony sets the shoes off to the side and looks back down at him, face filled with so much love and sympathy for the state of his kid. He leans down and presses a soft kiss against Peter’s forehead. “Don’t cha want to get into pajamas, kiddo?”

The teenager shrugs, tugging the blanket further up his muzzle. “Maybe later…’m too comfy.”

His dad smirks, fondly rolling his eyes, taking half a step back. “I’m gonna get you some soup or something, alright?”

Peter cringes at the thought of food, looking up at Tony with pleading, doe eyes. “But I’ll throw up again and I really, _really_ don’t want to, Dad.”

“You need something in your system, bud. I know it sucks, but if you’re gonna throw up, it’s better if you actually _have_ something to throw up, know what I mean?”

The tyke sighs defeatedly, “I guess.”

“That’s the spirit.” Tony gives him one last rub before he stands up, turning around. “I’ll be back in a few minutes -”

“No!” Peter abruptly leans up and grabs his father’s tail, keeping him in place. His eyes are wide, scent bitter in distress and illness and Tony mentally growls at the smell. “Please don’t leave me, D-Dad.” 

He then wraps his arms around Tony’s twitching tail, making his stance known that he definitely doesn’t want the hero to leave.

And well...how in the hell can Tony say “no” to that?

Said tiger kneels back down until he’s at eye level with his son. His paw goes back to lightly scratching the boy’s fur, combing through the damp strands. “But you need to eat, kiddie.”

“I’m not hungry right now, can I-can I get something later? I’m just...I wanna sleep.” The teen then concludes in an almost shameful whisper, his face heating in a mix of his fever and his rising embarrassment. “And, just, please don’t leave.”

Tony cups his son’s cheek, one claw barely grazing across his jaw. With his free hand, he reaches up, carefully pulling the blanket back over Peter’s now exposed feet. “On one condition: gimme back my tail, bubba.”

Peter smirks as he tightens his grip, “Can’t, it’s my plushie now.”

His dad raises an eyebrow in amusement, crossing his arms as he shifts back on his haunches. “Well, if I can’t get my tail back, you’re not getting my behind-the-ear scratches that you love so much.”

The kid scoffs in mild surprise, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.” Tony smirks, “Along with your grooming privileges.”

Peter gasps, _“No!”_

“Oh, _yes.”_ The billionaire starts lightly pulling his tail, “So, _now_ what d’ya say, kid?”

After a couple seconds of contemplation, Peter reluctantly lets go of his dad’s tail, almost pouting but softens up at the scratching that has now resumed. His throat catches in a purr and the cub doesn’t even try to stifle the sound anymore.

“Now was _that_ so hard?” Tony snickers as his kid groans in annoyance, “Maybe it can be your plushie another day.”

“Not the same.” Peter then reaches out to his dad, his fingers curling in the universal ‘hold me’ gesture. “Aren’t you gonna stay?”

“Well, since you asked _so_ nicely.”

Tony loosens his red tie that’s still around his neck. He gets up after a few seconds and sits on the other side of his kid, next to the cushion. Moments later, his kid pushes the pillow off the couch and curls into him, head resting on the older tiger’s haunches and face smushed into his stomach.

The mechanic now has his tie completely off and strewn on an end table. He laughs fully at his son’s clinginess, holding him closer with his free paw. “I’m not going anywhere, little cub, you know that.”

“Not my fault you’re more comfy than a stupid pillow.”

“That pillow costs, like, half of May’s rent.”

Peter looks horrified for only a split second before he lets out a small laugh. “You should ask for your money back.”

Tony scoffs, “Well, you little stinker,” He starts to lightly tickle his kid, going under his arms and just behind his ears. The tyke can’t help but start giggling, attempting to push away his dad’s paws and failing miserably. He exclaims between bouts of laughter, “Stop! This is torture.”

His dad grins mischievously before he stops, taking note that his son is _sick,_ after all, “That’s what you get for insulting me.”

“Oh, telling the truth is _insulting_ now? You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“Whoever you get will be no match for me.”

Peter rolls his eyes, a grin escaping him, his jaw opening in a yawn. _“Whatever.”_

He curls back into his dad like he was before and Tony gives him no protest. Instead, the older hero starts ruffling his son’s hair once again, taking off his own shoes and propping his feet onto the coffee table in front of them with a tired sigh.

“Speaking of May, I texted her before I got to the school, she knows you’re here.” Tony whispers after a few seconds, voice rumbling against Peter’s ear. 

Peter nods his head, eyes droopy with sleep, “Cool...thanks for picking me up.”

“You don’t ever need to thank me for something like this, happy to do it.” The older tiger adjusts the blanket so that it’s covering the kid fully and starts rubbing his back, making the teen sigh in utmost content.

They stay that way for a while, letting the silence of the room envelope them as they relax, Peter letting out an occasional hum of gratification and Tony never stopping those loving, parental rubs. Peter’s head begins to feel a little better, his stomach no longer aching and clawing at his intestines. 

It’s the most he could ask for, given the circumstances. 

Tony suddenly asks quietly, breaking the quiet. He’s still rubbing his son’s back and Peter arches slightly into the gentle touches. “You sure you don’t want anything to eat, buddy?”

Now that Peter really thinks about it, he hasn’t eaten anything that’s actually stayed down...maybe some food can’t hurt. Might even make his headache fully disappear, if he’s lucky.

“Um, soup actually d-does sound kinda good. Do you have chicken noodle?”

“One order of chicken noodle soup, coming right up.” The hero starts to get up but the teen is making no effort to move, his ears twitching. “You know you’re gonna have to actually let me up, right?”

Peter’s paw grips onto his dad’s shirt, sniffling. “You’re rich, can’t you have it delivered?”

Tony frowns. “Why would I DoorDash soup when I can make it myself in half the time?”

“‘Cuz you’re rich.”

“Nice try.” Tony lifts his kid’s head and scoots over but before he stands up, he grabs that pillow Peter knocked over and puts it back in its position. He looks back as he leaves the room, “Sit tight while I’m gone.”

The teenager grunts at the humor, “Like I could move anyway.” 

Tony’s answers with a genuine laugh that follows the billionaire to the kitchen and Peter flushes with a little bit of pride. He’s one of the few animals that could actually make Tony Stark giggle like a cub. 

Resting his head against the stupid pillow again, Peter internally curses the blatant lack of behind-the-ear-scratches the fabric could give him, before his father figure’s voice causes his ears to twitch in interest.

“While I’m _slaving away_ in here--”

Peter cuts him off with a small laugh, before his stomach twinges again and he’s forced to hold it back. “You love it, Dad, don’t lie.” 

“Uh-huh, buddy.”

“I give your life a sense of purpose.”

Tony snorts. “What’s my purpose right now, then? To make my little spider-cub soup because he’s sick and needs cuddles from his old man?”

“Yep.” Peter pops the ‘p', curling up tighter under the blanket. “Don’t-Don’t let me stop you from fulfilling your destiny, _father dear.”_

“Right--” Tony appears to grab a pot from the cabinet, the sound of the noodle can’s lid popping off a sharp _ping_ against Peter’s sensitive ears and he grimaces. “--Anyways, while I’m making you food-- _that you’re going to eat_ \--feel free to pick out a movie to watch.” 

Peter briefly lifts himself up enough to glance behind him, arms shaking a bit at the exertion. Tony’s standing at the shove, a wooden spoon in hand and a hard look of concentration crossing his muzzle. Peter feels a burst of gratitude and love bloom in his chest for his guardian and the tiger cub is forced to speak around a small chirp of semi-sickness muted delight. 

_“Any_ movie?”

Tony sets the lid on the now sizzling soup, placing it on low and letting it simmer. He speaks as he comes back around the couch, grabbing the TV remote and handing it to a smirking Peter. 

“Nope, we’re going to have some ground rules this time. _The Lego Batman Movie_ was a bad choice.”

“But--” Peter cuts himself off with a cough, feeling Tony’s paw gently rub soothing circles across his heaving back. Finally, he regains his breath, wheezing. “--You liked that movie!”

 _"'IronTiger sucks'"_ The genius quotes with a forced frown of annoyance, his soothing petting never faltering even as his ears pull back. “A great movie choice there, kiddo, really shows how you feel about me.” 

“Oh, come on!” Peter blinks up at the older tiger, his brown eyes wide in innocence and glazed over slightly in sickness. Tony murmurs at the sight, feeling his chest jump in a fierce protectiveness. “It was _one line._ Besides, you said that-that Robin reminded you of me!”

Tony holds up one paw, counting on his fingers. “Small, stubborn, adorable baby face, chatty. Yeah, fits the bill, _bambino._ Down to a T, I might say.”

“T as in tiger?”

Tony groans, pushing the remote closer to a softly giggling Peter. “No, T as in ‘Terrible joke.’ Pick a _different_ movie, buddy, I’m gonna go get your PJs, okay?” 

Peter just nods, jaw stretching in a yawn and he doesn’t protest when Tony carefully pushes him so that he’s laying back down again. 

He starts flipping through Netflix, quickly navigating to the Disney section of the site as soon as it loads. Finally, he decides on _Treasure Planet_ with a sigh and clips the play button, pausing it as soon as the castle logo comes into view.

“Ah, good choice,” Tony says as he walks back in, clad in his own relax clothes. He sets Peter’s pajamas on the coffee table, gently reaching down to feel along his forehead and neck. “You’re still a little warm, bubba. I’m going to go get your soup and a glass of water, hopefully that will help. How’re you feeling, though?”

Peter whines softly, too tired and horrible feeling to worry about embarrassing himself anymore. “Not good. Head hurts and-and I’m cold.”

Tony makes a soothing sound in the back of his throat, chest rumbling. Leaning down, the older tiger quickly presses gentle kiss against his cub’s forehead, smoothing back the fur around his ears with a careful swipe of his paw. With his free hand, he grabs an extra blanket from the back of the couch, tucking it around Peter. 

“Sit tight, kiddo. I’ll be right back.”

Half expecting Peter to latch onto his tail again, Tony carefully slides around his son’s trembling form, patting the young tiger’s knee when he finally makes it past the couch arm. Peter just hums in appreciation, eyes closing as he doses against the pillow still smushed underneath his muzzle.

But before he could fully fall asleep, Tony returns, carrying the soup bowl in one hand, hissing slightly at the sting of the hot glass, and a bottled water in the other. After setting both the bowl and the water on the coffee table, the tiger sits back down next to Peter.

The spiderling wastes no time snuggling back into his father, forgoing the pillow once again. Tony adjusts the blankets so they wrap completely around his kid, making sure no sliver of fur is exposed. Peter sits up a little bit, eyeing the bowl with slight hesitation and clear hunger.

“Careful, cub. It’s hot.” Tony says, propping Peter up with a gentle paw. “Don’t burn your whiskers off.”

The billionaire then carefully hands over the soup, resting it on top of his son’s blanket-covered lap. The cub reluctantly pulls out a paw from the warmth of the fabric and grabs his spoon to start eating. 

He blows on the spoon, the steam rising against the backdrop of the still-paused television and Peter nearly purrs at the feeling of the warm liquid against the soreness of his throat. Tugging the bowl closer to him, the young tiger ignores his father’s resulting chuckle, instead focusing on eating the delicious soup in front of him.

He’s only taken a few bites when he finds his paw starting to shake, the action weakening him exponentially. His entire body follows soon after, the shiver causing the fluffy fur to rise up along his shoulder.

Nevertheless, Peter is hungry so he tries to fight through, something his dad will _not_ stand for.

“You’re about to give me a heart attack. Here, let me.” Tony grabs the bowl, thankful that it’s cooled off slightly, and takes the spoon from Peter’s now slack grip, confusing his son. “I told you to be careful, _bambino.”_

“What -?” Peter frowns, half-heartedly reaching for the utensil. “No, I-I can do it--” 

“You’re about to spill it all over yourself, can’t let you have third-degree burns along with everything else that’s wrong with you.”

“But -”

Tony cuts him off, voice firm but still has a soft undertone, his chest rumbling in a growl of both frustration and fond exasperation. “Just let me help you, alright?”

Once the teen finally registers what his dad wants to do, he nods his head gratefully. Tony’s face softens even more and he leans down to press a gentle lick against Peter’s cheek, smoothing back his son’s fur. 

“Open wide, little cub,” Tony says once he pulls back again, smirking as he holds up the spoon, “Here comes the ‘choo choo train’ -”

“Oh, _shut up.”_ Peter can feel his cheeks redden in embarrassment but he giggles, all the same. “It’s not-not my fault my hands are shaking, you meanie.”

“It’s okay, buddy.” Tony soothes, feeding Peter another bite when the teenager opens his mouth.

The next few minutes are spent in quietness sans the slurping noises from the tiger cub. Ever so patiently, Tony feeds him spoonful after spoonful of soup, the teen shivering as he feels the glorious broth make its way through his system. 

Once he’s done, Tony puts down the bowl with a small sigh, gently cleaning Peter’s muzzle off with a damp paper towel.

“You really did make a mess, kiddo.” Tony laughs. 

“It’s not my fault you have a bad aim, old man.” Peter shoots back, letting out a small laugh of his own. “I’m sick, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Tony sets down the rag, grabbing Peter’s clothes and reluctantly pulling his child back up from where he’s slouching against the couch cushion. Peter lets out a whine of pain at the movement and Tony has to shove aside a flash of guilt. “Come on, baby, we gotta get your comfy clothes on.”

“Don’t wanna.” Peter whimpers. “Can’t I just, I dunno, sleep in my jeans?”

Tony, instead of answering, gently pushes the spiderling to the side. Peter reluctantly follows the movement, grabbing his night clothes when his dad holds them out. Tony, after giving his pouting cub a stern look and a soft nuzzle, turns completely around, allowing Peter to quickly change.

“All done.” Peter says after a few seconds.

The sight that greets the billionaire causes Tony’s heart to skip in his chest, the Arc Reactor seeming to glow even brighter beneath his shirt.

His son’s ears are pulled back, his fur messy and his doe eyes drooping in exhaustion. He reaches up with one tiny paw, rubbing at his eyes and Tony softly coos, brushing the newborn-soft fur along Peter’s ears back.

“Scoot over. I don’t want to sit on your tail, buddy.” Tony says, gently poking at Peter’s side with a finger.

The second Tony gets back into position, his cub snuggles into him again, so much so that the boy is practically in his dad’s lap. The mechanic smirks, chest filling rapidly with warmth, and surprises Peter by scooping him up and finishing the job by putting him in his lap, guiding his son’s head to rest on his chest.

Peter obliges without any argument - in what universe would he ever argue about _this?_ \- and goes limp in the other’s grip. His breaths sync with his father’s and he feels his skin bristle with goosebumps, both due to his cold state and the feeling of being safe.

Because he knows his father will make him better.

Tony adjusts the tyke’s blankets once again, rubbing his arms and back to reinforce the warmth. His tail seems to have almost a mind of it’s own and curls up around Peter, wrapping gently against his kid’s back. “You ready for that movie?”

He feels his son nod against his shirt and Tony carefully reaches around, beginning to try to shift Peter so that he’s facing forward instead of smushed against his chest. “Lemme turn you around so you can see the T.V--”

Peter cuts him off with a shake of his head, ears folding down. “I can still listen to it.”

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.” The kid concludes with a yawn, giving the other tiger the assumption that Peter might not even make it to the opening credits. “P-Promise.”

With that thought in mind, Tony hits play and moves until he’s completely horizontal on the couch, taking his son with him. He leans back against the absurdly expensive pillow and sighs in content at finding the sweet spot.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in silence, with both heroes watching the movie while Tony resumes scratching his spider-cub behind the ears, making said kid unconsciously release small hums and sighs in happiness despite being sick. 

Peter’s tail makes an occasional twitch at the comfort, coming up to wrap around both of them as well.

About halfway through the film, right when Jim and the others have crash-landed at the foot of the Treasure, Tony hears a light snore come from his cub and looks down to see Peter with his eyes closed. His breathing’s even, despite the slight wheezing, his whiskers twitching sporadically, showing signs that he’s fast asleep.

_Huh, he made it farther through the movie than I thought he would._

Tony starts to turn off the TV but holds back, instead turning it down and letting the background noise consume them. The colorful scenes cause dull shadows to dance across the walls behind them and Tony watches as the bright lights flash against the side of Peter’s slack face.

With a slightly trembling paw, the father carefully reaches down, his hand cupping his son’s cheek, smoothing down the sickness induced furrow in his brow.

Tony focuses on his son’s snores, still ruffling his fur. A sudden purr, deep and filled with as much love as the billionaire can possibly muster, spills out of him and the whole couch almost vibrates from the force. The noises from the movie, however, are so peaceful.

So peaceful that it makes the older tiger’s eyes start to droop himself. He shakes himself, leaning down to lovingly kiss along Peter’s temple before resting his head back again, pulling his kid even further against him.

 _It’s too late for a nap, you dumbass._ Tony thinks, even as his eyes slip shut again. _It’s too--_

That is Tony’s last thought before he conks out fully, escaping the worries of the world for at least a couple of hours.

When he has his cub in his arms, however, nothing else really matters.

Everything will just have to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading!!! Kudos make our day and comments fuel our writings! ;D
> 
> We're also on tumblr @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars and @baloobird
> 
> Special thank you to [canonismybitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonismybitch) for coming up with the idea of making the nurse a sheep, that was the cutest thing 💜
> 
> Peter: tiger cub  
> Tony: tiger  
> May: otter  
> Ned: bear cub  
> MJ: zebra calf  
> Flash: ferret kit  
> Coach Wilson: polar bear  
> Mrs. Sheer: sheep


End file.
